I thrashed against the decade:

Search the walls of my high school bedroom,

Soaked to the insulation with sorrow.

White girl sorrow, sure.

But no less deep with the loss of a friend,

A heart near dead at twenty — isn’t that plenty?

The soul wounds.

I became a fish who keeps leaping out of the water

And then complains about the sunburn,

The inability to breathe.

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